


Pack yourself a toothbrush dear

by Emilaa



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Just a little tho, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Strangers to Lovers, background Adashi, based on Sleep on the Floor by The Lumineers, bed sharing, brief death mentions, car crash mention, disaster gays basically, klance, road trip fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-24
Updated: 2018-11-24
Packaged: 2019-08-28 12:37:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16723551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emilaa/pseuds/Emilaa
Summary: "Where are we even going," Keith asks after they've been driving for a while, suddenly realizing they hadn't discussed a destination.Lance just shrugs at him, eyes bright and hair windblown. He has his hand out the window, letting the wind weave through his fingers, and in that moment, he looks so, achingly, human that it makes Keith want to laugh and cry all at once, "anywhere."





	Pack yourself a toothbrush dear

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is very heavily based on my favorite music video in the world, which you can find Here!  
> I definetly recommend watching the video before you read :)  
> (Edit: I'm not completely sure if the links are working or not so i'll try to figure that out, just in case, the song is called Sleep on the Floor by The Lumineers and can easily be found on youtube!)
> 
> Huuuuuge shoutout to @speakswords for giving me writing advice, and helping me with writers block, and for being just generally encouraging during the million years that I took to write this.

Keith is half heartedly listening to the droning of the man talking on the radio when he spots something by the side of the road, something that looks exceptionally out of place on this deserted little strip of pavement. It's a boy, who's almost certainly not much older than him, standing next to a smoking car looking rather windblown and lost.

He tells himself he's not going to stop as he watches the boy run a frustrated hand through wild brown locks. Tells himself he's not going to stop as the boys blue, blue eyes follow his car as he drives past. He tells himself he's not going to stop, then tells himself once more, before promptly pulling a U-turn and pulling his car up behind the old, blue, broken down chrysler.

Keith had very nearly kept going, nearly drove past and didn't turn around, but as he parks and watches through his windshield as the boys face melts into relief, and a smile that looks something akin to sunshine whispers its way onto his lips, he is suddenly and inexplicably happy that he did.

He opens his door and steps out, the gravel crunches pleasantly under his feet and the cool dusk wind licks softly across his skin and through his hair. Keith closes his eyes and takes a long, deep breath of air that holds the distinct and pleasant smell of summer, suddenly realizing that he had been driving for nearly seven hours straight.

"Hey," a pleasant voice calls out and startles Keith into opening his eyes once again, remembering why exactly he had stopped in the first place.

He turns to find that the boy had wandered closer, but still stands a few yards away, studying Keith with uncertainty.

"Hi," Keith says, studying the boy back, "car trouble?"

The boys tense stance melts into one of exhaustion and he runs a hand through his already mussed hair, "I've been stuck here for a few hours," he says as he begins walking towards the front of the car, where the hood stands propped open. Keith follows behind, "there's no service out here, and nobody would stop to help... Except you." He looks back at Keith with those blue eyes that remind him of a summer sky and throws him a cautious smile, "I'm Lance by the way."

Despite the ache of sadness that lingers in his stomach, Keith let his lips softly pull up into a smile, "I'm Keith."

.

.

He manages to mess around under the hood of Lance's car for nearly thirty minutes before finally throwing his hands down in defeat.

He turns to Lance who had been standing off to the side and sighs, "sorry, I don't think I can fix this, i'm not even really sure what's wrong."

Lance looks a bit defeated but throws Keith a smile nonetheless and casts his gaze to the horizon which had begun to melt into the deep violets and indigos of early evening.

"It's okay," he shrugs, "thanks for trying anyway, I'll just sleep in my car tonight and try again tomorrow I guess."

Keith looks at him a bit incredulously, "we're in the middle of nowhere," he says, gesturing around them to the acres and acres of grassy fields that surround them for miles, only being interrupted in the distance by a small range of mountains that cut a jagged line into the horizon, "you can't just sleep in your car."

Lance is beginning to look frustrated again, his eyes glimmering softly under the dying light of the sky, "well it's not like I have much of a choice here."

Keith studies him as he weighs his options carefully in his head. Common sense wars mightily with other emotions that swim around confusingly in his mind until finally he says, "well, where were you going before your car broke down?"

The question seems to take Lance aback and for a moment he just stares at Keith. Keith watches, fascinated, as a slight blush begins to color his cheeks and he looks down almost sheepishly at the ground.

"Listen, I know this is probably going to sound stupid, but I wasn't really going anywhere. I was just...going, I guess." He looks back up at Keith, shiny eyes uncertain.

Keith almost laughs at the ridiculousness of it all, at the strange and sideways way that life always seemed to work.

Lance has the decency to look rather offended at the amused expression that had grown over his face, "what?"

He sighs, rubbing a tired hand down his face, considering for a long, long moment before finally saying, "you can come with me if you want, I don't really have a destination either."  
　  
Lance just stares at him, wide eyed.  
　  
Communication had never been something that Keith could navigate easily, and Lance’s silence makes him suddenly anxious that he had said something wrong, "I mean, you don't have to, I wa-"  
　  
"Okay." Lance says quickly, cutting him off.  
　  
"What?" Keith says.  
　  
Lance just shrugs, "I'll come with you."  
　  
Lance decides to just leave his car at the side of the road, claiming it "a piece of junk anyway". Keith watches as he grabs a royal blue duffel bag out of the trunk of his car and throws it into the backseat of Keith's (which, if he's being honest, isn't that far from a breakdown itself). The bag is small, but even so Keith thinks it looks like its only about halfway filled up. He catches a glimpse of a photo peeking out of the bag, its awash in sunshine basked blues and golds and whites. He can make out an arm of warm brown skin here and a toothy white smile there but not much more than that.  
　  
He almost asks Lance about it as he watches him climb into the passenger seat of the car, but closes his mouth at the last second shaking his head. Instead, he makes his way over to the drivers side, climbs in, slams the door, and suddenly, they're gone just as quickly as Keith had gotten there.

.

.

They had only been driving for about twenty minutes when Keith catches Lance's intense blue stare from the corner of his eye. It causes confusing emotions to flutter up in his stomach so he turns and glares at Lance, a bit more accusingly than is probably necessary.

Lance blinks back at him a bit owlishly and then narrows his eyes, "Okay, sorry, I have to ask, you're not going to murder me are you? Because, although I'll admit you've been really kind and helpful, i'm not gonna lie, it's a little sketchy that you're just wearing a fancy suit in the middle of what's practically a desert."

Keith glances down surprised, realizing that he is, in fact, still wearing a suit -- cherry red tie knotted just as perfectly as it had been hours earlier. The only indication that time had passed is the small oil stain from Lance's car, smeared across his otherwise pristine white shirt.

And Keith had really thought he was okay. Thought he had maybe healed something during the many hours and miles and miles of road that he had put between him and the moment his life came crumbling down, but as he opens his mouth to respond to Lance and only a choked noise manages to escape, he realizes that the distance had probably only driven the knife in deeper.

He watches as first, confusion and then something akin to horror blooms on Lance's face as a tear, one of the hot and fast ones that seem to come without warning, slides its way down Keith's cheek. He wipes it away angrily.

Of course, of course he was suddenly crying in front of some strange, charming boy that he had picked up off the side of the road just minutes earlier. Of course he was, because that made absolutely no sense, and lately, the world seemed to be doing its best to turn Keith's life upside down.

He looks over again to suddenly find Lance much closer than he had been before, his eyes now wide blue pools of concern. 

"Hey if its something I said-" he begins softly.

And that seems to be it, the thing that finally causes Keith to snap being simply the genuine concern in Lance's voice, in his eyes. He pulls the car over to the side of the road, throws it into park, rips the keys out of the ignition, and then practically falls out the door in his haste to get out.

The night air is quiet and cool and seems almost empty with the absence of a rumbling engine. The silence contrasts starkly with the chaos in his mind. The wind softly kisses his hot cheeks in a way that only makes the tears fall faster. He hesitates for a moment, torn between getting back in the car and wanting to just start walking down the dark, deserted road and not look back.

He ends up simply laying on the hood of the car, the warmth of it beneath him providing an odd sense of comfort. He lets the wind play with his hair as the tears slowly but surely dry on his face.

After a few minutes Keith hears the soft sound of a car door opening and closing and the crunch of footsteps in gravel. Then, quiet for a long, long moment before, "are you okay?"

Keith lets out a long, long sigh. His eyes don't leave the brightly freckled sky overhead as he whispers, "I didn't mean to freak out on you like that. I can drop you off at the next town we find if you want." His voice sounds watery and weak to his own ears.

Lance doesn't reply. The car rocks gently as he climbs on and lays down next to Keith. The warmth of his arm as it presses against Keith's own makes a new, much gentler emotion, dance through his stomach. He wonders, for a moment, if warmth is a secret cure to sadness.

When Lance finally replies, his voice is much closer and Keith can feel the warm puff of breath against his cheek, "you didn't answer."

Keith still doesn't tear his eyes away from the stars wheeling slowly overhead, but his nose scrunches up slightly in confusion, "what?" he asks, voice wobbly.

"I asked if you're okay," Lance whispers softly.

Keith finally turns towards Lance, he's mere inches away, already looking at Keith with wide eyes that look almost colorless under the strange lighting of a night sky.

"Listen Keith," Lance says, propping himself up on one elbow so he can meet his eyes, "I know i've only known you for like half and hour now, but I can tell when someone needs to get something off of their chest, and you," he trails his eyes over Keith in an innocent gesture, but Keith feels his cheeks heat anyway, "look like you're trying to hold the entire world on your shoulders."

When Keith doesn't answer, Lance lets the faintest appearance of a smirk pull at his lips, and in an over the top, suggestive tone, whispers, "plus, I've been told i'm very comforting.”

Keith nearly loses it all over again. At the fact that he is laying on the hood of his car at night, in the middle of nowhere, next to a boy he's known for less than an hour, whos response to his freak out seems to be to flirt.

He rolls his eyes and lets out a quiet huff of laughter and then finally sighs, and props himself up on his elbow, mirroring Lance's position. Despite his teasing tone, Lance's expression remains kind and open, and he seems serious about letting Keith talk to him.

"My parents died two days ago," Keith finally whispers, "I went to their funeral this morning."

The smile drops off Lance's face and Keith feels almost foolish for suddenly missing it, "holy shit, i'm sorry," he whispers, genuine pain laced into his warm voice.

Keith shrugs, "I mean, they were pretty shitty as far as parents go, but they were basically all I had, so after their funeral this morning, I just... left. Just got into my car and started driving and didn't stop until I saw you by the side of the road."

"I just, god, Lance, I don't even know what i'm doing," he casts his gaze back towards the velvety sky. Being in the middle of nowhere means no light pollution and it looks as if someone had taken a paintbrush and used the night sky as their canvas, spattering the millions upon millions of shimmering stars into existence, "i'm running away, but I don't even know what i'm running from."

He hears Lance let out a huff of humorless laughter beside him and looks over questioningly.

Lance meets his eyes and sighs, "sorry, it's just kind of ironic, i'm running towards something, but i'm not even sure what i'm trying to reach."

"Oh?" Keith whispers. He tucks both his hands under his cheek, the emotional turmoil of the day, paired with Lance's soft voice causing his eyes to grow heavy.

"Yeah," Lance turns his gaze away from keith to stare up at the bright sky, "I'm from Cuba actually, I came here about a year ago because..." there's a soft wobble in Lance's voice for a moment but then it's gone so fast that Keith wonders if he imagined it. "Well, I came and tried out the whole college thing, but I ended up dropping out after a few months, it just wasn't really my thing I guess."

Keith watches as Lance raises his hand and begins tracing patterns into the sky, perhaps mapping out the constellations, or maybe sketching his very own pictures into the stars. He almost wishes he had the guts to ask.

"I stayed with a friend for a few months after that, and then, I've just been kind of traveling around ever since. I just-"

He cuts himself off and suddenly drops his hand as he turns back to Keith. Keith blinks at him in surprise.

"Do you ever just stop and think about how crazy it is that we even exist? Of how amazing it is that there's balls of gas millions and millions of miles away, that make our sky look like its made of diamonds when it's dark out." He emphasizes his words with a gesture skywards.

"Keith," he says, catching Keith's eyes, "Don't you think it's amazing that water sometimes just falls out of the sky? Just millions and millions of drops that make the air smell so, so good, and sometimes it gets cold enough that little crystals float to the ground, and they're freezing cold, but people go out and play in them anyway, just because it makes them happy."

He sighs and looks up again, "Do you ever stop and look, just really look at things, like trees and flowers and the waves of an ocean, or just the way someone smiles when you compliment them."

"Life is amazing," he tells the sky.

"Life is amazing," he whispers to Keith as he meets his eyes again, "and i'm so afraid of just letting it slip through my fingers."

Keith lets the words hang between them for a moment, "and that's why you've been running?" he finally asks, quietly.

"Yeah," Lance whispers, "I guess that's why i've been running."

It's quiet for a few moments before Keith breaths out, "I wonder why it's so much easier to tell strangers your secrets."

Lance hums softly in consideration but doesn't provide an answer, instead, he studies Keith carefully and asks, "do you want me to drive for a while?"

Keith knows that he should feel more uncertain about letting a stranger drive his car, but as he looks into Lance's eyes, which remind him of the ocean he used to visit as a child, he finds only relief, so he nods.

He falls asleep in the passenger seat to the soft, melodic sound of Lance singing along with the radio.

.

.

That night, Keith has the same dream he's been having every night since his parents died. His parents are in the front seat of their car, having a conversation that he can never quite make out. And Keith, Keith is always in the backseat, screaming at his parents to look up, to see the two headlights growing ever closer, driving directly towards them, but they never do.

Right before they crash, Keith always closes his eyes. When he opens them, he's outside the car, staring down at shattered glass that sprinkles the ground like snow, and metal that looks as if it were bent at the hands of a giant.

Tonight though, when Keith opens his eyes he's not staring down at broken glass. Instead, he's staring out at a pristine blue ocean. It stretches out and out and out and then softly kisses an equally blue horizon. The sun is high and bright in the sky and Keith squishes soft, golden sand gently between his toes.

The sound of laughter floats on the air, seeming to come from no direction in particular, and for the first time in a very, very long time, he feels happy.

.

.

Keith hangs in that soft, murky space between sleep and alertness for as long as he can, letting the world slowly come to him in fragments. The soft rumble of an engine, the warmth of sunlight on skin, the distinct, sweet smell of early morning air.

When he finally does open his eyes, something feels a little strange, a bit off kilter, as if the whole world had taken a step to the left while he wasn’t paying attention. He realizes it's because his car is moving and he's not the one driving it.  
　  
Keith had always been a solo act. He had acquired the title "loner" while he was in high school and ran with it. He realizes that it feels weird and a little scary, to hand a part of his life, even if it's just a little part, over to someone else. To slowly start to realize that it doesn't have to be 'Keith Kogane against the world' anymore.  
　  
It's a feeling that, with time, he thinks he could learn to find comforting.

He glances over and finds Lance in the driver's seat, slants of warm sunlight pooling over his skin and catching the freckles dusting his cheeks.

Lance must sense eyes on him because he looks over and smiles when he see Keith looking back.

"Hey," Lance says, softly, and then after a moment of consideration adds, "feeling better?"

Keith considers this question for a moment. The windows of the car are cracked open letting cool morning air whisper through his hair. Warm sunlight pools around him, and above them, as far as he can see, stretches an endlessly blue sky. There is still that ache of sadness in his chest, but along with it, a warm, content feeling settles deep in his stomach.

"Yeah," he tells Lance, "I think I am."

"Do you want to talk about it?" Lance asks carefully.

What Keith really wants to do is leave the pain of an old life behind, even if it ends up lasting for only a while, so when he answers, "no, I think I'll be okay," he means it.

They drive a while longer before they stop in a small town so Keith can find something to wear besides his suit.

They find a store at the edge of the town, it's insides smell of lavender and oak, and a woman with salt and pepper hair and a kind smile sits behind the counter. Keith picks out a few shirts and a couple pairs of pants.

Before going to pay he finds Lance browsing through a rack of sunglasses. When he spots him he slides the pair he currently has on halfway down his nose and wiggles his eyebrows, "hey Keith, are you a parking ticket? Because you've got fine written all over you."

Keith rolls his eyes and scoffs in an attempt to hide the blush he can feel beginning to dust his cheeks, "are you always this bad at pick up lines?"

"First of all, rude," Lance says, a repressed smile evident in his voice, "second of all, i'd like to see you do better."

Keith considers him for a moment before grabbing his own pair of sunglasses and sliding them on, "hey Lance, I value my breath so it would be nice if you didn't take it away every time you walked by."

Lance splutters for a moment before throwing his hands into the air, "fine, that wasn't that bad, but mine was still better."

Keith swears he catches red on Lances cheeks as he walks away.

.

.

The small town is charming, but too small to catch their interest for long, they decide to keep driving, this time with Keith behind the wheel.

"Where are we even going," Keith asks after they've been driving for a while, suddenly realizing they hadn't discussed a destination.

Lance just shrugs at him, eyes bright and hair windblown. He has his hand out the window, letting the wind weave through his fingers, and in that moment, he looks so, achingly, human that it makes Keith want to laugh and cry all at once, "anywhere."  
　  
It's quiet for a while, only the sound of their breaths and the miles and miles of road flying past the windows to fill the silence. After a while Lance says, "you know, it's kinda strange that we're driving across the country together and we don't even know each other's favorite colors."

Keith considers this for a moment before shrugging "Well what is your favorite color then?"

"Blue," Lance says automatically.

"Like the sky?"

"No, blue like an ocean," Lance answers, something wistful in his expression.

'So like the color of your eyes,' Keith wants to say.

"Mine's red," he says instead.

Over the course of an hour Keith learns that Lance spent his childhood growing up on the frothy crests of ocean waves. That he is the youngest of a large and loud and dearly loved family, and that while a sun-stained beach has always been his second home, he has always felt a strange and inexplicable rightness to laying on cool, Cuban sand, under the shade of a vast, star encrusted sky.

Something warm and soft begins to bud in Keiths chest.

Later, when the sun hangs low in the sky, Lance convinces him to pull over. The second the car comes jerkily to a halt in a patch of dirt, Lance swings the car door open and jumps out.

Keith watches through his open window, in a mix of amusement and confusion, as Lance twirls around, kicking up soft puffs of dust that float lazily through the air. He has his head thrown back and arms thrown out, mouth open in an unforgiving smile. He looks for all the world as if he's about to start a conversation with the sky.

Keith has the strange and sideways thought that Lance is more alive than anyone he's ever met before.

Lance turns to him, "come on Keith!"

Keith's eyes him a bit uncertainly, "what exactly are we doing?"

Lance points towards the sky, where the sun is slowly and surely melting into the horizon, "when's the last time you watched a sunset?"

Keith thinks about it for a moment and realizes he can't remember. The soft and uncertain thing in his chest grows bigger. He gets out of the car.

They lay on the hood of the car just like they did last night, but this time it feels different -- lighter, happier perhaps.

The air is warm and sweet and carries with it an odd, nostalgic feeling that Keith has only ever found in summer. In the vast field of prairie grass that sits in front of them, Keith spots the first appearance of fireflies, they drift lazily on the sweet summer breeze, weaving in and out of the soft grass. The hum of the cicadas is loud enough to drown out his thoughts, so he simply watches, quietly, as the sky melts into an orange, that drips into a pink, that shifts into a soft purple, that ever so slowly drifts into the shade of a night sky.  
　  
.  
　  
.  
　  
It's nearly midnight when they make it to the sleepless city of Las Vegas. Keith is awed by how well it lives up to its name. Around them glittering buildings stretch themselves upwards, kissing the sky. Cars flow through the streets in a constant, glistening stream of colors while stop lights blink lazily at intersections. People seem to fill every available space -- talking quietly on benches, laughing while strolling down the street, kissing against a brick wall. And the lights, they're everywhere, brilliant yellow climbing up the sides of buildings, neon pinks and greens flashing on signs, gold, twinkling in brilliant strands above their heads.  
　  
They park the car in favor of strolling lazily around the city. The air and pavement are still warm despite the hour, a lingering kiss of a summer's day. Eventually they find themselves sitting on the edge of a fountain, their legs too tired to carry them any further. The soft sound of the water gurgling behind them is soothing and next to him, Lance is humming quietly, a sweet, slow song that sounds as if it could be an old lullaby.  
　  
Keith feels warm and sleepy, he closes his eyes and has nearly drifted off sitting up when a cold splash of water hits him square in the face. He sputters and wipes the water off of his face as best he can with his hand. Next to him, Lance is still humming innocently, staring out at the steady flow of Vegas traffic, but a teasing smirk has lifted the corners of his lips  
　  
Keith narrows his eyes before scooping up a handful of water and dumping it directly on Lances head. Lance lets out a small shriek before turning an accusing glare to Keith, "that was way more than I splashed you with!"  
　  
Keith just shrugs, a smug grin inching its way on to his face. Lance glares at him for a moment longer before his expression melts into something contemplative, his eyes flick from Keith's face to the water and back again.  
　  
The corners of Keiths smile droops, "wait, Lan-", and then Lance pushes him into the fountain.  
　  
For a moment all Keith can process are the words "cold" and "wet" before he pulls his head up from the water with a gasp. It's not deep, probably a little more than a foot but Keith is still drenched. The ceramic bottom of the fountain is cool and slimy and feels strangely nice beneath his palms, his hair is plastered to his face and his wet clothes stick to him uncomfortably.  
　  
Still perched on the edge of the fountain Lance has the decency to look at least a little guilty, but he's still bent over, clutching his stomach with bright, unrestrained laughter.  
　  
Keith allows himself one moment, just a brief second to consider how the sound of it trips up his heart before he's grabbing Lance's arm and pulling him into the fountain too.  
　  
Lance falls with a splash and then sputters up. For a moment they just glare at each other, narrowed lavender locked on narrowed sky blue, beads of water snaking themselves slowly down both their faces. The glare-off lasts only until Keith accidentally lets a soft puff of laughter slip past his lips and suddenly they're both bent over in fits of giggles.  
　  
Keith isn't completely sure why they're laughing, he thinks it probably has something to do with the late hour and lack of sleep, but whatever it is, it feels good, to laugh with such abandonment.  
　  
He tells himself not to stare at Lance and the way his nose crinkles and his eyes shine when he laughs, but he does anyway. He can't bring himself to feel too guilty though because Lance looks right back.  
　  
When their laughter finally peters out and they catch their breaths Lance stands up, a cascade of water dripping off of him, "how about we find somewhere to sleep that has actual beds tonight?" He holds out his hand with a soft smile.  
　  
Keith hesitates for only a moment before grabbing Lance's hand and returning the soft grin.  
　  
They make their way out of the fountain and Keith expects Lance to drop his hand, but instead he only tightens his grip.  
　  
Touch has always been a foreign concept to Keith. No one in his life had ever been a fan of physical contact, and he had never been the type of person to initiate it. Lance though had grown up in a small house surrounded by a large family, Keith realizes that touch must be second nature to him.  
　  
As they make their way through the crowded streets Keith loosens his grip, afraid he's squeezing Lance's hand too hard, and then immediately tightens it, worried that Lance will think he wants to let go. Lance seems to realize that Keith is thrashing in the water because as the "walk" sign flashes on across the street from them and they begin to move, he turns to Keith with a gentle smile and simply says, "hey, don't think so hard."  
　  
Something wild and anxious within Keith stills.  
　  
They stumble hand in hand into the nearest hotel they can find. The lobby is fancy in a way that looks as if it's trying too hard. The walls are draped with thick gold fabric that, upon closer inspection looks pretty cheap, and the rug is a deep blue that does its best to hide the coffee stains and scuff marks peppered over it. The receptionist at the front desk barely gives their dripping clothes a second glance and Keith gets the impression that she's seen worse.  
　  
"Can we get a room please?" Lance asks her.  
　  
She sighs as if perhaps she's heard that question one too many times, her long, bubble gum pink fingernails tap away at her keyboard. After a moment she eyes them and says, "we only have doubles left, will that be okay?"  
　  
"Yep, that's fine," Lance answers pleasantly.  
　  
Lance gives her some information in exchange for a key card, and after a, "5th floor, down the hall and to your right," a ride up the elevator and a short walk, they're standing in front of their door.  
　  
Lance slides the card in and the light blinks green, they push their way into the room, and then Keith's stomach promptly makes an attempt to climb out of his throat, because. Oh. Right. One bed.  
　  
Lance doesn't seem to be bothered in the slightest. He makes his way over to the window on the far wall and, with some effort, manages to push it open.  
　  
Keith's panic fades a little as curiosity swims up to replace it, "what are you doing?"  
　  
"We left our only changes of clothes in the car, so I don't know about you but," with some effort he manages to peel off his clinging shirt and hangs it carefully on the windowsill, "I would rather not spend the rest of my night in wet clothes."  
　  
The panic is back in full force and Keith stands in the middle of the room, fumbling with the end of his damp T-shirt, unsure of what to do.  
　  
Lance must sense his inner panic because as he's tripping out of his wet pants he throws Keith a glance and rolls his eyes, "I'm leaving my boxers on."  
　  
Keith's face burns, burns, burns.  
　  
"Obviously," he says, glaring at Lance, but some inner part of him sighs in relief.  
　  
Keith hesitantly follows suit and soon enough there are two shirts and two pairs of pants swinging gently in the breeze from their windowsill. Keith wonders what the people below think.  
　  
Behind him Lance flops face first onto the bed. Keith glances quickly away from the miles and miles of smooth brown skin that are now visible. With a sigh he begins to sink down onto the floor, "I can sleep down here," he says quietly.  
　  
"Wfft?" Lance's voice is muffled by the bed so he lifts his head up and meets Keith's eyes, "what? Why don't we just share the bed?"  
　  
"No it's fine," Keith starts.  
　  
"Keith," Lance says, "my Mama would kill me if she found out you had to sleep on the floor while I got the bed."  
　  
Keith still stares at him, uncertain.  
　  
"I'll give you lots of space, I promise." Lance says quietly.  
　  
Something within Keith melts. Lance had a strange way of reading him, of knowing exactly what he needed before he knew it himself.  
　  
He sighs.  
　  
The bed is warm and soft beneath him and the sheets smell like lemon, but despite how tired and comfortable he is Keith finds himself unable to sleep. He watches as the moonlight slowly inches shadows up the wall and listens to the sounds of the city that drift into their open window. A car honking angrily, the distant song of a police siren, a stray hiccuping sound of someone either laughing or crying.  
　  
Beside him he can hear Lance breathing softly and after a moment of hesitation he whispers, "Lance?"  
　  
"Yeah?" Lance breathes back sleepily.  
　  
Keith's brain is sluggish, wading through the sticky syrup that is 2 am thoughts and he has to pause for a minute to remember why exactly he had wanted Lance's attention in the first place.  
　  
"What's the picture you have in your bag?" He says finally, quietly.  
　  
There's a slight pause as if Lance hadn't expected that question.  
　  
"It's a picture of me and my family at Varadero beach on my 18th birthday," he answers, and Keith can hear the smile in his voice, but beneath it he catches something sad too.  
　  
"Do you miss them a lot?" He asks quietly.  
　  
There's another pause, but this one is heavy.  
　  
"So much," Lance says, the ends of his words catching in a wobbly sort of way. Something rolls unpleasantly in Keiths stomach.  
　  
He takes a deep breath and finally gets the guts to say something he had been worrying about all day, "you don't have to stay with me you know, I'm sure I probably look kind of like a lost puppy to you, but I've been alone for basically my entire life, I don't mind being alone again."  
　  
The lie rolls easily off his tongue.  
　  
Lance is quiet for a moment before he sits up and squints down at Keith, the moonlight glints off his hair and frames his head making him look strange and ethereal. He sounds far more awake when he says, "Keith, do you really think the only reason i'm still with you is because I feel like I need to babysit you?"  
　  
Keith shrugs.  
　  
Lance shakes his head incredulously, "Keith I'm still here because I like you, even if you're a little hot-headed at times, you're kind and funny, and probably the first person basically ever that hasn't told me I'm crazy or wasting my potential or some crap like that."  
　  
Keith considers this and then asks quietly, "but what about your family?"  
　  
Lance sighs and runs a tired hand through his hair before laying back down.  
　  
"My family wants what's best for me and they don't think this is it, they want me to go back to college. My mom told me she's disappointed but she would never stop me from chasing my dreams, so here I am," he glances over to Keith and a small smile tips the corners of his lips, "and here you are."  
　  
Keith snorts slightly in amusement, "a college dropout and an orphan, we make quite the team."  
　  
Lance shrugs, "I think we are a good team."  
　  
It's quiet for a few minutes and Keith is about to drift off to sleep when he hears a hesitant, "do you want me to leave?"  
　  
He sighs into his pillow before answering, "No, I guess I just asked because you always sound sorta sad when you talk about your family. I thought maybe you wanted to go back to them and I was one of the things that would hold you back from that," he pauses for a moment before adding a mumbled, "plus I was worried you might secretly hate me or something."  
　  
The last thing he catches before he drifts off is a quiet laugh and a soft, "oh I don't think you have to worry about that Keith."  
　  
.  
　  
.  
　  
The next morning Keith wakes to a warm body pressed flush against his own. It's a strange feeling but not a bad one. The opposite of bad in fact. Its warm skin against warm skin, an arm thrown over a waist, the tickle of hair tucked neatly under a chin, the soft patter of two heartbeats against each other.  
　  
Keith has mere moments to marvel at this new and lovely sense of comfort he's found before his eyes fly open, as he has the sudden and panicked realization that this warm body belongs to a very real person.  
　  
He squints against the early morning sunlight for a moment before looking down. Lance's head is pillowed on his arm, his face tucked neatly into Keith's neck, soft breaths of air fanning over Keith's skin every few moments.  
　  
And shit. He's totally cradling Lance in his arms.  
　  
Despite his panic something within Keith melts. So this is what he had been missing out on all his life. The soft, warm weight of a body next to yours, the hot breath and gentle heartbeats. The strange, conflicting sense of being both together and alone when the person next to you is lost to the depths of sleep.  
　  
Keith begins to think that maybe he should thank Lance for not keeping his promise from the night before when he realizes something else -- this wasn't the side of the bed he had fallen asleep on.  
　  
Lance hadn't moved an inch while he was asleep.  
　  
For the second time in the span of just a couple of hours, Keith's face begins to burn.  
　  
He begins the tedious process of trying to untangle himself without waking Lance, but before he gets the chance to move any more than an inch Lance begins to stir and lets out a soft sigh.  
　  
Keith freezes, hoping against hope that Lance is still asleep but his stomach sinks when he hears Lance's voice.  
　  
"I didn't take you as much of a cuddler Keith."  
　  
The feeling of Lance's lips brushing against his skin as he speaks mixed with the soft, sleep stained sound of his voice makes Keith's heart flutter.  
　  
He quickly finishes pulling his arms away from Lance and scoots a few inches over, his skin is cold in all the places that Lance was pressed against.  
　  
"Uhh yeah, me neither," Keith says sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck, "sorry."  
　  
Lance just shrugs, his eyes still closed and the ghost of a smile on his lips.  
　  
The sound of a waking city flows through the windows and fills the silence for a while. Lance sighs again and turns his head towards Keith. He cracks open a single, sleepy blue eye and studies Keith for a moment, "so what's the plan for today bedhead?"  
　  
Any of the remaining heat in Keiths cheeks quickly drains as he glares at Lance and runs a hand through his hair, which, to his dismay, is sticking up wildly.  
　  
He takes a moment to mull over Lance's question, what now? And it begins to really hit him -- they can do anything. Not forever of course, eventually their money will run out and they'll have to stop and breathe and probably find jobs again. Or hell, maybe they'll just eventually get sick of each other, but Keith can't find it in himself to care about that right now.  
　  
Not with the taste of 'anything' on his lips.  
　  
Not with the memory of a sweet breeze whispering wildly through his hair, and the colors of a dripping sunset smeared into his mind, and the faint smell of fountain water still lingering on his skin.  
　  
Keith thinks he's beginning to understand Lance's reasons for running far more personally than he had ever planned to.  
　  
He comes tumbling out of his thoughts when he catches Lance's soft stare on him.  
　  
"What?" he asks.  
　  
"Nothing," Lance answers, his mouth quirking at the corner, "I just haven't seen you smile that often."  
　  
"Oh," Keith says, reaching a hand up to his mouth, surprised when he finds his lips curling gently upward at the corners.  
　  
"It suits you," Lance says studying him quietly.  
　  
He's out of bed, grabbing their clothes off the windowsill before Keith has a chance to respond.  
　  
-  
　  
-  
　  
When they have trouble deciding where to go next, Lance, seemingly always striving for the most wayward way to live life, suggests they flip a coin and see where it takes them.

The Keith of a couple days ago would have balked at the idea. Today though, he finds himself inexplicably drawn to the thought of being completely, hopelessly, lost within the world. To the promise of more sunsets, and more cities, and more nights next to the boy with the laughing eyes and sunlit smile.

He agrees without hesitation. 

.

.

Heads.  
　  
They eat blueberry pancakes while sitting on the roof of the car outside of an IHOP. The sky is bright blue and endless, the sun feels deliciously warm against Keith's skin. He says something that makes Lance throw his head back with laughter.

Hours later, when he thinks back to it, he can't even recall what he said, but he can remember with clarity the sweet, breathy sound of Lance's laugh as it floated skywards.  
　  
Tails.  
　  
They somehow find a beach. Neither of them are completely sure what state they're in anymore. They kick off their shoes and throw off their clothes and run breathlessly into the frothy waves. The water is achingly blue, breathtakingly blue, bluer than a dream.  
　  
The very same blue of Lance's eyes beneath the sun stained sky, the blue of his lips as he shivers against the shock of chilly ocean water.  
　  
Lance teaches him to bodysurf. The first time he tries it, he manages less than three seconds before the wave comes crashing down around him, throwing his head forcefully down into the water. He comes back up coughing, the taste of salt coating his tongue and throat, sand dripping down from his hair, and he laughs until his sides ache.  
　  
Later, as the sun sinks beneath the waves and turns the sky into a wildfire, they walk mindlessly down the beach. The sand sinks gently between their toes and the breeze brushes through their hair. Lance hums happily while he picks up shells he finds and presses them gently into Keith's hands.  
　  
He finds himself entranced with the way the dying light turns Lance's skin the color of honey. Finds himself wondering, for the briefest of moments, if that golden skin would taste as sweet as it looked beneath his lips.  
　  
Warmth quickly floods his cheeks at the thought, turning his skin more crimson than the sky. He turns away before Lance can catch him staring.  
　  
Tails.  
　  
They find themselves lying on the peak of a sand dune under a clear, Tuesday night sky.  
　  
Keith had dug out a worn blanket from under one of the seats of the car, and they had laid it down over the soft but chilly sand.  
　  
They lay side by side, gazes wandering endlessly over the stars that twinkle sleepily in the velvety sky. The warmth of Lance beside him seeps gently into his skin.  
　  
This is the night he comes to the conclusion that being around Lance is like standing on the edge of a cliff. It's terrifying and dizzying and yet, at the same time it makes him feel as if he's never truly been alive until this moment.  
　  
Beside him, Lance is sleepily pointing out different constellations.  
　  
"When I was little," he says softly, "my mom used to take me out to lay on the beach at night and we would look for constellations until I fell asleep."  
　  
Keith can hear the wistfulness buried just beneath his words.  
　  
"Just look how many of them there are Keith, isn't it amazing?" He sounds breathless as he says it.  
　  
Keith glances over, in the dark he can just barely make out the whisper of a smile on Lance's lips, the soft swoop of his nose, the shimmering reflection of the stars in his eyes.  
　  
"I don't really see anything," Keith admits as his eyes wander lazily back to the quiet sky.  
　  
And it's true, he doesn't spot any of the shapes that Lance was describing, but looking at all of it he thinks he understands why constellations exist. Understands how gazing at a glittering, star smeared sky can make people dream up strange and lovely stories about the shapes they find amid the silky black.  
　  
Lance shifts slightly so that his cheek is pressed against Keith's own, he takes Keith's hand and points it carefully at the sky.  
　  
"Do you see Ophiuchus, right there?" His voice is as soft and sweet as a lullaby, his warm breath brushes over the corner of Keiths lips. "It's the one that kind of looks like a jellyfish."  
　  
Keith's heart stumbles uselessly in his chest. He can feel himself toeing the edge of this cliff, this steep drop of blue eyes and honey skin.  
　  
In the back of his head, the faint but familiar voice of loss begs and pleads with him to step back, to run like hell towards safe ground. And its compelling. But behind it there's a different voice, one that whispers but is loud all the same. It says only one thing-- "what if?"  
　  
"Lance I see at least 50 different blobs that at least slightly resemble a jellyfish." He finally says, and hopes that Lance doesn't catch the shakiness of his voice.  
　  
Lance laughs and the sound of it reminds him of a summer morning, of wind whispering through an open window, of waves kissing a tangerine sky. It makes him think of every single good thing he's ever known in this awful world.  
　  
Down he falls.  
　  
.  
　  
.  
　  
The next day the smell of rain hangs heavily in the air like a promise. They flip a coin to decide what direction to take, heads north, tails south.  
　  
It lands on heads.  
　  
North they go.  
　  
Keith lays across the back seats with his feet hanging out the window, the chilly air licks softly across his skin and the hum of the radio lulls him to sleep.  
　  
Recently, Keith had discovered that his dreams were no longer painted with horrific scenes of his parents deaths. Instead, they are filled with endless roads and arching skies, with glimpses of tousled brown hair and ocean eyes.  
　  
Today is no different, he's in the middle of a sun soaked dream filled with soft, whispering prairie grasses and Lance. Twirling through a patch of wildflowers, a daisy tucked behind his ear when suddenly a slamming noise wakes him with a start.  
　  
He sits up blearily and looks around, trying to get his bearings. The car is parked on the side of the road. Outside, the sky is a menacing grey and the air feels warm and charged-- the promise of a thunderstorm. Keith panics momentarily when he finds Lance missing from the driver's seat but he soon spots him sitting on the hood of the car.  
　  
Lance's head is hung, forehead resting in the palm of one of his hands. He’s got something gripped in his other hand that Keith can’t quite make out and his lips are turned down in a frown. Keith feels immediately wary, this is not the same boy who was just dancing in sunbeams in his dreams. He doesn't think its the boy he's been driving across the country with either. This is a side of Lance he hasn't met yet.  
　  
Keith gets out of the car, Lance doesn't lift his head at the sound of the door. He takes a seat next to him on the hood. Upon closer inspection he can see the object that Lance has in a death grip is the picture of his family that he normally kept tucked away in his bag.  
　  
Keith has never comforted anyone before, has no idea how to even go about comforting someone, but this is Lance, and for Lance he decides he has to at least try.  
　  
"Lance what's wrong?" he says softly.  
　  
Lance sighs and finally looks up at Keith, his bright eyes look tired, his hair is mussed as if he had been running frustrated hands through it.  
　  
"The car broke down and I had to pull over, I didn't want to wake you up so I tried to fix it myself but I think I made it worse and now we're stuck here and it's about to rain and-" and then suddenly he's crying.  
　  
Keith watches helplessly as tears pool in his eyes, making them look as stormy as the sky above, watches as they roll slowly down his cheeks and cling to his chin.  
　  
Keith opens his mouth to say something, anything, to try to help, but Lance starts talking again instead.  
　  
"Keith, do you remember the night we met? When you told me what you were running from and I told you what I was running towards?"  
　  
Keith nods.  
　  
"Well," Lance sighs heavily, "I didn't exactly tell you everything, I left out the part where i'm running from something too."  
　  
Keith scoots closer to Lance and is surprised when Lance rests his head gently onto his shoulder. The weight is warm and comforting, Lance's soft hair tickles his chin gently and Keith feels almost guilty for enjoying it.  
　  
"What do you mean?" he asks gently.

Lance tilts the picture he has in his hand so Keith can see it and points at the boy that has his arm thrown lovingly around Lance’s neck.  
　  
"I had a brother named Nicolas, he was seven years older than me. He was the one who taught me to surf, and he would flirt with the ice cream vendor to get us free ice cream and he knew all the best spots to stargaze. He wanted to be an astronaut and god, Keith, he would have made such a good one, he belonged with the stars."  
　  
Keith doesn't realize he's holding his breath until his lungs begin to burn.  
　  
"What happened?" he whispers.  
　  
"He was born with a heart condition, the doctors told him he probably wouldn't live very long, he died three years ago today." Lance has stopped crying but his voice still sounds watery, "I left Cuba right after he died. I would look around the house and see his shoes by the door, and I would eat off the plate he chipped while doing the dishes when we were little, and his favorite song would come on the radio, and it would always feel like he was just about to walk through the door. It was too painful, so I ran."  
　  
Lance pulls away and looks at Keith with watery eyes. Without thinking Keith reaches over and gently wipes away the tears beneath Lance's eyes with his thumb. Lance doesn't lean away, just gives Keith a soft, sad smile and fixes him with a look he can't quite decipher.  
　  
"I'm sorry Keith, I know you just lost your parents, I shouldn't dump all my problems on you, it just hit me really hard today, and, well," he gestures to the car beneath them and laughs wetly, "this didn't really help much."  
　  
Keith looks at him incredulously, "Lance you don't have to apologize, we both lost people, it doesn't matter how long ago it happened, your sadness is just as valid as mine."  
　  
Keith suddenly finds himself wrapped in Lance's arms, he hesitates for a moment before he returns the hug, wrapping his arms gently around Lance's waist.  
　  
"Thanks Keith." He mumbles against Keith's neck.  
　  
Keith's heart beats wildly in his chest and for a brief moment he thinks about how soft Lance's skin is against his own, about how he still smells like ocean air, about how he's never felt more at home than he does here in Lance's arms. He pushes the thoughts away as quickly as they come.  
　  
"No problem." Keith whispers back.  
　  
They stay that way until the clouds grow ever darker and the sky lets loose tears of its own.  
　  
.  
　  
.  
　  
　  
By the time they find a restaurant with an overhanging roof to take shelter under, both their clothes are soaked through.

Keith keeps sneaking glances at Lance, worried that he might start crying, worried that he might decide to pack up his bags and leave for Cuba right then and there, worried about the intensity of the emotions that bubble up in his stomach at the sight of Lance’s puffy eyes.

Lance seems oblivious to his panic though. He sits against the wall of the restaurant quietly watching the rain trickle down from the roof. The look on his face is so content that Keith can’t find it in himself to disturb him so he takes a seat next to him and they huddle together against the chill of the oncoming night.

Keith is in the middle of marveling at the sight of all the car headlights glimmering in the wet pavement when the door next to them chimes and a man walks out with two armfuls of takeout food.

The man hesitates for a moment, seeming to debate about whether he should make a run for it towards his car or wait out the downpour when he suddenly catches a glance at Keith and Lance.

He glances once more towards the parking lot and then makes his way over where they’re sitting.

“Are you two alright?”

Keith takes a moment to study him, he’s got a prosthetic right arm and a scar that arches over the bridge of his nose. Despite appearing only a handful of years older than him the man has a head of pale, silvery hair. For some reason Keith automatically decides he likes him.

“We’re okay,” he finally answers, giving the man a faint smile, “our car broke down and we got caught in the rain.”

The man shoots them a frown that gives off the aura of a concerned dad. “Do you live around here?”

Keith glances at Lance who throws him a faint smile before answering, “not really, but i’m sure we’ll be able to find somewhere to stay before it gets too dark.”

The man runs a hand through his hair taking a deep breath, “you know, my boyfriend and I live only a couple minutes away from here, we would be happy to lend you the couch for the night if you need it.”

A soft smile finds its way onto Keith's face at the kindness of this complete stranger, when he sneaks a glance at Lance he finds a similar expression.

“That would actually be great,” Lance tells the man, “as long as it's not too much trouble.”

The man smiles warmly at them and holds out a hand, “of course not, i’m Shiro by the way.”

 

.

.

Shiros apartment turns out to be exactly the place that Keith would describe if someone had asked him to define the word ‘home’.

It's warm and softly lit and smells vaguely like a mix of coffee and old books. A few potted plants hang down from the ceiling or sit placidly on the shelf hanging above a bookcase. Framed pictures line the walls, the majority of them containing a smiling Shiro and a boy with warm skin, sandy hair, and soft brown eyes that are partially hidden behind the gleam of his glasses. A desk sits against the far wall, covered in books and papers that seem to be scattered into some sort of controlled chaos.

For some reason, Keith's chest begins to ache at the domesticity of it all.

Shiro introduces them to his boyfriend Adam and when Adam doesn’t even bat an eye at their sudden appearance Keith begins to wonder if this isn’t the first time Shiro had brought strangers home.  
　  
They all sit on the floor around a coffee table to eat the takeout that Shiro had been picking up when he met them. Adam makes Shiro turn bright red and Lance snort water out of his nose when he tells the story of the first time that Shiro had tried to ask him out.

As Keith watches the way they look at each other, the way Adam gently brushes Shiro's hair off his forehead, the way that Shiro knows to hand Adam his glasses before he even asks for them, he finds his eyes drifting inexplicably towards Lance.

He’s surprised when he finds Lance’s eyes already trained on him, a contemplative look tilting the corners of his lips. Keith expects Lance’s eyes to flit away just as his seem to want to do but instead Lance holds his stare and his expression melts into something soft and warm.

And strangely enough, Keith feels himself return the look without hesitation.

.

.

It's much later when they all finally decide to go to bed. Shiro apologizes profusely for the small size of the pull out couch that they are offered, but Lance easily brushes him off, assuring him that he’s done more than enough already. And so, Keith finds himself falling to sleep pressed up against Lance’s side. It’s warm and soft and the sound of the rain drumming gently against the windows already has him drifting off when Lance suddenly whispers something to him.

“What?” he asks groggily, one foot still caught in the beginnings of a dream.

“Do you think you want something like this one day?” Lance repeats quietly.

“Something like what?”

“To stop running, to sit still and find a little apartment to fill with things you love,” Lance says quietly, “To find someone you love to share it with.”

The last part he says so quietly that Keith can barely hear it.

For some reason the question feels weighted, feels far too heavy of a thing to consider answering when he feels so warm and light, so instead he turns it back on Lance.

“Do you?”

Lance is quiet for a moment before he sighs, “I didn’t think I did, I felt like I could just keep on running forever, but i’ve been thinking about it for the past few days...and then seeing Shiro and Adam together tonight,” Keith can hear the smile in his voice, “yeah, I think I want something like that.”

Keith tries to picture it for a moment, some pretty face getting to wake up next to Lance’s tousled hair and sunbeam smile every single morning. Someone who Lance can wrap his arms around as they’re doing the dishes or dance around the kitchen together to his favorite songs.

For some reason it makes him angry to think about.

It makes him even angrier when he realizes the anger is only there because the face he pictures next to Lance’s in the future is never his.

He turns to face Lance in the bed, suddenly desperate to change the subject. He wants to say something witty, something that will make Lance laugh and forget what they were ever talking about, but his brain is still caught up in images of Lance, drenched in sunbeams, dancing around a kitchen.

His mouth is a traitorous thing.

“I only want something like this if it’s with you.”

For a moment, that feels far longer than it probably is, everything is quiet, and then he hears Lance’s breath catch in his throat. Keith’s eyes widen as the full impact of what he just said comes crashing around him. He makes a move to get out of bed, to run somewhere, anywhere other than in this room, away from this blue eyed boy who suddenly knows his deepest desires.

“Keith stop,” Lance says grabbing his arm and hindering his attempts to escape the bed, “just, hold on for a second.”

Keith pauses but makes no move to turn around and face Lance.

“Keith,” and his voice is so soft, so patient that it sort of makes Keith want to cry, “look at me.”

Keith turns hesitantly, bracing himself for the confusion or even disgust he’s expecting to find on Lance’s face. Instead, he turns and finds Lance’s face mere inches away, something soft and hopeful painted into his smile.

“Do you really mean that?”

His tone holds a note of disbelief, as if he can’t imagine anyone ever wanting a forever with him, and suddenly Keith finds some of the panic within him quelled.

“Yes,” he says softly, holding Lance’s wide stare.

Lance’s warm breath caresses his face, as he slowly, ever so slowly leans in. Keith realizes that Lance is giving him time to back away, but Keith wouldn't dream of it. Couldn’t even consider the possibility.

When Keith was little, and had to watch kissing scenes on TV through his fingers so he could pretend to be disgusted, he remembers wondering if kissing was as nice as the couples on the screen always made it look.

As it turns out, kissing Lance really is nice.

It’s also messy and endearingly awkward and wonderful.

It’s hands fumbling to tangle into hair or caress cheeks. It’s accidentally knocking teeth together and the hot slide of lips against each other. It’s learning what a laugh tastes like, what a smile feels like when pressed against your own.

When Keith finally pulls back he’s breathless. Lance leaves a hand resting softly on his face, thumb lazily tracing over the corner of Keiths mouth.

“Believe it or not I’ve actually wanted to do that since the night I met you,” Lance says, and Keith is gratified that he sounds just as breathless. “It’s unfair how pretty you are when you cry.”

Keith attempts to frown at him but he’s not convinced he pulls it off, “I bet you say that to all the strangers that pick you up in the middle of nowhere when your car breaks down.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

Lance shrugs and smiles softly, hair tousled and eyes bright, and Keith wonders if he’ll ever be able to catch his breath again.

.

.

The next morning Keith wakes up to Lance curled into his arms and for a moment he panics, thrown back to that first morning in the hotel room, but then the memories of last night flood back to him and he sucks in a slow breath.

Lance is still sound asleep, his face half tucked into the crook of Keith’s arm and Keith takes the opportunity to study him. This close, he can see the freckles that kiss across his nose and up his cheeks. His eyelashes gently brush against his warm skin and his lips curl softly upwards, as if even in sleep he could find something worth smiling about.

Keith takes his free hand and gently traces the curve of Lance’s lips. The very lips that were pressed against his own last night.

A small part of him tries to convince himself it was all a dream. A larger part though, the part that can feel Lance’s warm breath fan across his skin and feel his heartbeat tap a steady rhythm into his side, the part of him that can still faintly taste Lance’s vanilla chapstick on his tongue, tells him that it was very, very real.

Lance begins to stir and blinks open sleepy blue eyes. He seems startled for a moment at Keith’s proximity but then his eyes clear and he throws Keith a smile as soft as a sunrise.

Keith falls and falls and falls, ever further off the edge of this seemingly endless cliff.

“Hi,” Lance whispers to him.

“Hi,” he whispers back.

It’s quiet for a moment before Lance let’s out a breathy laugh, “why do I feel like i’m meeting you all over again?”

He smiles softly and studies Lance’s face for a moment before ducking his head down shyly, “Lance, I don’t know how… I’ve never done this before, I don’t know what i’m doing. I’m probably going to mess this all up.”

Keith has seen the way that Lance loves things, it’s a passionate, all encompassing sort of love, one that takes Keith’s breath away.

Lance deserves someone who will love him in the same way, someone who will throw caution to the wind, someone who will love him with the same abandon. Keith is afraid that he won’t know how to do that.

And despite the soaring feeling in his chest, this is the thought that has been weighing him down.

“Hey,” Lance says, gently tilting Keith’s face back up with his hand and searching his eyes carefully, “i’m no expert at any of this either, we can figure it out together okay?”

“Okay,” Keith says after a moment. Lance’s words swallow his worries whole, making them vanish so fast he has to wonder for a moment why they were even there in the first place.

Kissing Lance the second time is surprisingly different from the first. The second kiss feels like a Sunday morning, soft and sleepy and warm. They kiss as if they have all the time in the world, which, Keith realizes, maybe they do. They kiss until the drifting smell of pancakes and the promise of a new day finally pulls them out of bed.

.

.

Eventually they manage to get a hold of a mechanic to look at their broken down car. The mechanic tells them that it’s going to take until at least tomorrow to be repaired. When Keith tells Shiro and Adam their faces light up and they immediately try to convince Keith and Lance to come with them to a friends party they were headed to that night.

They agree, partly because they actually do want to go, but partly because Shiro and Adam aren’t the type of people you can say no to.

The party is at a house about an hour away so they all pile in to Shiro’s small car for a mini road trip. Adam and Lance sing along to the radio at the top of their lungs, Keith and Shiro share grimaces in the mirror.

They stop at a gas station so that Lance and Adam can run in and get snacks. Keith finds himself alone in the car with Shiro. He expects it to be uncomfortable or awkward but instead the silence that settles around them feels warm and comforting.

Keith watches the gas station window for a moment where he can see Lance and Adam standing inside. Lance is saying something with large, over exaggerated gestures and Adam has his head thrown back laughing.

Keith’s eyes drift to the rearview mirror where he can see Shiro’s face. His eyes are crinkled and there’s a soft smile inching its way up his face.

“Shiro, how do you know Adam is the one you want to spend your forever with?”

Keith isn’t quite sure where the question came from, it seemed to slip out of his mouth while he wasn’t paying attention, but as soon as he says it he realizes how personal of a question it is.

“You don’t have to answer that,” he adds quickly.

Shiro’s eyes find his in the mirror but instead of looking angry he looks thoughtful.

“I think maybe,” Shiro begins softly, “it’s because when i’m with him, I feel like i’m home, no matter where we are in the world.”

Keith's heart stutters in his chest. Shiro’s kind eyes study him in the mirror.

“Does Lance make you feel like that Keith?” He asks softly.

Keith finds himself terrified of the answer so he says nothing, but Shiro must find some sort of answer in his expression because he smiles softly and nods.

.

.

By the time they make it to the party the sun is already kissing the horizon. There’s fairy lights strung up through the lush trees in the yard and the air is warm and sweet. Music drifts to them on the breeze, and Keith feels suddenly as if he had stepped into a different world.

He hesitates as he walks into the yard, much like everything that they’ve done over these past few weeks this is new territory to him, Lance though, doesn’t skip a beat.

He grabs Keith’s hand in his own and runs ahead and suddenly Keith finds himself amid a small sea of people all of whom are talking and laughing and dancing along to the music.

A part of him wants to run away to somewhere quieter, somewhere with less dancing and less people, a place where he can be more sure of himself.

Another part of him is getting tired of running.

He puts his hands in Lance’s outstretched ones and together they twirl around the yard. At some point someone pushes a drink into his hands, it smells sweet and vaguely alcoholic. The night begins to blur at the edges, the stars slowly blink into existence overhead.

Keith remembers the night in fragments, he’s standing next to a drink table, laughing at something with Shiro and Adam. He’s leaning up against a tree talking to a man with a bow tie and a kind smile with a confidence he doesn’t remember finding. He’s in Lance’s arms as Lance gently brushes his hair off his forehead.

And he’s kissing Lance against a tree and he’s laughing at something he can’t remember into Lance’s neck and he’s pushing another drink into Lance’s hands.

His night is filled with the soft shine of blue eyes under a string of party lights and an endless sky.

It’s much later when the party begins to die down. Lance leads him around hand in hand until they find an empty room, lit only by the warm light that pours in through the windows. They share a single pair of earphones between them and sway to a playlist that Lance finds on his phone.

Keith leans his forehead softly against Lance’s, their breaths mingle in the slight space between them. Somehow it feels more intimate than any of the times they’ve kissed.

The silence is only broken when Lance laughs breathily into his neck.

“What?” he whispers.

“You scare the hell out of me Keith Kogane,” Lance says, but he says it in a tone that one might use when they’re telling someone they love them.

“Why?” Keith whispers back.

“Because I just realized that I think I would follow you anywhere, even if you led me right off the edge of a cliff.”

Keith thinks if anyone should be scared it should be him, he’s already been falling for a while.

“Would you follow me to a little apartment in some city?” Keith asks. “Would you follow me even if I decided I wanted to stop running?”

“Of course,” Lance breathes out.

And Keith already knew the answer, but a wave of relief washes over him when he hears it from Lance’s mouth.

This time when Keith kisses Lance, it tastes like vanilla and alcohol and of a million different promises of a forever, sealed by the press of two lips.

 

 

 

 

　

　  
　  
　  
　  
　  
　  
　

**Author's Note:**

> I self projected so hard onto this fic that I basically subtly wrote myself into the story.. whoops ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> Thank you so, so much for reading, I really hope you enjoyed!  
> (you can find me at @watermelonhiccups if you ever want to chat :)


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